


Baking and Bliss

by ranguvar82



Series: Silence and Strength [29]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Baking, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23344663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: "Crowley, love? Could you come into the kitchen for a moment?" Asked Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Silence and Strength [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630903
Comments: 14
Kudos: 148
Collections: Ineffable Cats





	Baking and Bliss

Baking and Bliss

“Crowley love, could you come into the kitchen, please?” Aziraphale asks, poking his head into the Music Room, where Crowley is currently in the midst of entertaining Treble with a lovely rendition of ‘Everybody Wants to Be A Cat’ for acoustic guitar. Treble purrs in rhythm from his spot on his Daddy’s shoulders. The demon nods and sets aside his guitar before following the angel into the kitchen.

“Treble love, you’re going to have to get down for a second.” The cat looks mortally offended, and Aziraphale kisses the top of his head. “You can sit on your perch and watch, silly thing.” The perch is an old piece of wood that Crowley had found while working on the garden, polished up, and placed on the kitchen sill so Treble could watch Aziraphale cook(and not so he could try and snitch bits of yummy food, not at all, Treble is a good kitty). Treble mews with what he imagines is dignity and hops off Crowley’s shoulders and onto his perch.

Crowley, meanwhile, is looking at what’s on the counter. There’s a mixing bowl, some measuring cups, a huge pile of cherries from his trees(and oh they look so delicious), flour, cinnamon, sugar, and lots of other things. ‘Angel, what?’

The beam Aziraphale gives him makes the sun look dim. “I thought we could do some baking together! I found a lovely recipe for cherry cinnamon rolls!”

Crowley, who is trying not to melt in a puddle of drool at the thought of his two favorite things in the entire world being combined together, simply nods. Aziraphale, somehow, beams even brighter, and snaps his fingers. An apron appears in his hands, and he passes it over to Crowley. It’s a bright red, with a large black snake on it holding a giant purple apple in its jaws. The snake is wearing neon green sunglasses. It’s the tackiest, cheesiest thing Crowley has ever seen in his life.

He loves it.

Aziraphale ties his own apron, a blue monstrosity featuring exaggerated angel wings done in green and yellow, and smiles at his husband. “Now, first thing we need to do is pit the cherries.” He hands Crowley a cherry pitter, and after a brief demonstration, Crowley sets to work pitting cherries. He puts one in the empty bowl Aziraphale passes over, one in his mouth, two in the bowl, two in his mouth, three in the bowl, four in his…

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, trying to sound stern but failing, “if you keep eating the cherries there won’t be enough to put in the rolls.” Crowley pouts, and Aziraphale tries not to laugh. “Well, go on then, but I’ll make sure to give you the roll with the least amount of filling.”

‘You wouldn’t!’

“Wouldn’t I?” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow, and Crowley sighs, placing the cherry that was heading for his mouth into the bowl. “Much better. Now, most recipes I looked up called for artificial cherry pie filling, but that’s hardly what I’d call baking, and making it homemade is just as easy.”

Once all the cherries are pitted, Aziraphale shows Crowley how to add the sugar, then pours the mixture into a saucepan with water and lemon juice. “Now, we let that boil, then turn it down and let it simmer until it’s a nice syrupy consistency. Meantime, you are going to make the dough.” Crowley looks horrified, and Aziraphale laughs. “Darling, don’t look so scared. I’ll talk you through it.”

Crowley, still looking a bit wary, scans the piece of paper with the recipe that Aziraphale has handed him. It may as well be written in code for all he can understand it. ‘Aziraphale, I can’t!’

“Nonsense. You are the smartest demon I know. You can do this. First, the dry ingredients.” Crowley nods, picking up a dry measuring cup. “The other one, dear. That’s a half cup. You need a full cup measure.”

‘This one?’

“That’s the one.”

It takes Crowley a while, but eventually he’s got everything mixed and whisked together. Aziraphale has the wet ingredients, and he directs Crowley in slowly combining the two bowls into cinnamon roll dough. It smells wonderful, and Crowley swipes a finger through it, gathering a big glob and sticking it in his mouth.

“Crowley! No snitching!” Aziraphale scolds, the twitch of his lips belying his stern tone. He stirs the cherry filling into the dough, sighing in loving exasperation when his demon snitches another glob. “Really?”

Crowley smirks and pokes Aziraphale’s mouth with the glob-covered finger. ‘Open.’ Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale obeys, and Crowley slides his finger in, letting his husband suck the dough off. ‘See? Good.’

Treble meows, and Crowley grins, dipping his finger in again and giving him a sample.

“Okay, enough. Stop snitching or there simply won’t be any left!” Aziraphale says, trying not to laugh at the consternation on Crowley’s face.

Crowley greases the pan for the rolls, and Aziraphale shapes them then pops them into the oven. “There. Now all we need to do is make the frosting.” Crowley licks his lips. He loves the ooey, gooey frosting that Aziraphale puts on his rolls.

The frosting takes less time to make, mostly because Aziraphale threatens to smack Crowley’s hand with a spoon if he even thinks of snitching. Once it’s made and the rolls are out, Aziraphale has another problem.

“Crowley, my love, I realize you are a demon and able to handle hot things quite well, and I also know how much you love my rolls, but could you please show some measure of decorum and NOT try to shovel the entire tray, which, may I remind you, just came out of the oven into your mouth? At least have the decency to let me frost them!”

Crowley looks extremely put out, and Aziraphale kisses his nose. “Patience, my love.” He snaps his fingers, and the rolls are frosted, glistening white and filling the cottage with the smell of cherries and cinnamon. Crowley licks his lips, looking at the tray with naked longing. “Oh, very well.” Aziraphale says, laughing, and Crowley grabs the tray and runs into the dining room.

Aziraphale, who has had the foresight to set aside a few rolls for himself, follows, a bright grin on his face.


End file.
